Ink
by Little Creek
Summary: The darkness is alive, and it's killing Sam.


**Ink**

Characters: Sam and Dean

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1075

Summary: The darkness is alive, and it's killing Sam.

**A/N: **I wrote another hurt Sam one-shot in an attempt to get myself out of a rut. Enjoy!

**Ink**

Sam tastes blood and dust. He forces open gritty eyes and sees... nothing. Just solid, inky darkness. Sam blinks, raises his hands from the dirt and rubs his eyes. Still nothing. He feels his heart start to race, hears it thumping in his ears, his breath huffing past his lips.

"Sam?" a voice calls from somewhere in the dark.

Sam flinches, feels something solid against his back. _Focus, Sam._ He's propped against a wall, wood by the feel of it. The air is musty but cool. His head throbs in time with his heartbeat and breathing hurts.

"Sam! Answer me!" the voice shouts at him.

There's nothing but darkness. The voice sounds vaguely familiar.

"Who's there?" Sam rasps.

"It's me, Sammy," says the voice, "It's Dean. You alright?"

The blackness is closing around him, pressing closer. He can't breathe in the ink, it's choking him, filling his mouth and spilling down his chin. Sharp pain radiates out from his chest and he spits, coughs, trying to clear his airway. When his body stops rebelling he slumps back, shaking. He realizes the voice - Dean - is talking again.

"Breathe slowly," he says, "Try not to move."

Obeying is instinctive. Sam tilts his head back carefully, resting it on the wall, his arms wrapped loosely across his chest.

"Where are you hurt, Sam?" Dean asks, his voice slicing through the ink.

"My chest," says Sam, talking carefully through his teeth so he doesn't choke on the darkness again, "and my head."

"Can you breathe ok?"

"Too dark," Sam answers tightly, "Can't let it in."

"What?"

Dean sounds scared, and Sam wonders if the ink has found him too.

"Can't let what in, Sammy?" he asks.

"The ink," Sam pants.

He's feeling it swirl around him, pushing at his shoulder and head, trying to knock him over so it can jump down his throat again. The world feels like it's spinning and he shoves blindly at the darkness, feels his hands slipping through it, unable to push it away.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean's shouting again, "Hey, calm down. You hearing me? Sam!"

The ink wraps around his chest, the pain making him cry out, and it takes the opportunity to fill his mouth again. The pain overwhelms him but he can't scream anymore, only cough and gag and spit the ink back into the darkness, but it still fills his mouth and he can hardly breathe around it. Sam forces himself up onto his hands and knees, trying to get air. Over the static in his ears he can hear Dean screaming his name, turning the ink blue with his language, _breathe Sam!_ But he can't, he can't because it's forcing its way down his throat, into his lungs, and his muscles are burning, shaking, and then his cheek is pressed into the dirt. There's silence. Breathing is easier. Sam groans, spitting the last of the ink out, and pushes himself up, leaning against the wall. He feels weak and lightheaded.

"Sammy?" Dean asks, and he sounds weird, like he's been crying.

But Dean doesn't cry.

"Yeah," Sam says, and he sounds weird too.

His throat feels like it's been scraped raw. His head pounds relentlessly and his mouth is dry, tastes metallic.

"We're gonna get out of here," Dean says, his voice stronger this time, "I promise, Sammy. I'm gonna get you out."

"Yeah," Sam responds, too tired to say anything else.

He knows Dean will get him out. He hears thumps, scuffling, the clink of metal on metal, then a triumphant sound from Dean. He rolls his head towards that sound, Dean's footsteps heavy as he scrambles to Sam's side.

"Ok, we're getting out right now, Sammy," he says, easing Sam to his feet, "Just hang on to me, alright?"

Sam grabs Dean's jacket, letting his brother guide him through the ink. He feels it clawing at him as he stumbles along, and he drops one hand to shove it away.

"Sam, hey, c'mon," Dean says, trying to pull him along.

Sam opens his mouth and feels the ink rushing up his throat - he obviously didn't cough it all up earlier. He goes to his knees, coughing and spitting, feels Dean's hands on his shoulder and back.

"Easy, Sam, take it easy," he says gently, "I've got you."

Sam finally clears his mouth, closing his eyes against the headache that's trying to force them out of his skull.

"Don't let it get me," he pleads, fear making his voice shake.

"What's after you, Sammy?" Dean asks.

"The ink, Dean, it's everywhere, keeps getting in my mouth..."

Dean's right beside him, his hands the only thing keeping Sam from face planting in the dirt.

"It's just darkness, Sammy, it can't get you," Dean says, "C'mon, man, get up. We're getting out, Sam."

He pulls Sam to his feet again, and Sam feels the ink tugging at his clothes. He wants to push it away, but his hand closes on empty air.

"Sam!" Dean snaps, pulling his focus back, "Stay with me. Don't let go, Sammy."

Sam holds on with both hands again, closing his eyes and his mouth. He's so tired.

"I gotcha."

His legs feel hollow.

"Almost there, Sam."

His head hurts.

"Keep walking."

There's still ink in his throat.

"Hang on, Sammy."

He can't breathe.

"Don't you give up, man!"

It's so dark.

"Open your eyes, Sam."

Sam blinks open heavy eyelids to light. It burns his eyes and he squeezes them closed, focuses on the gentle hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Sammy."

He tries again, opening his eyes slowly this time, letting them adjust to the brightness. Dean grins, relief in his eyes. He's standing beside Sam's bed, which is raised so Sam is semi-sitting up.

"Hey," Sam croaks, and licks his dry lips, trying to get some moisture in his mouth.

Dean holds a straw to his lips, letting him drink the cool water. When Sam's had enough, he sinks back into the pillows, glancing around. Everything's white. A hospital. He looks at Dean.

"You got us out," he murmurs, exhaustion trying to drag him under again.

Dean squeezes his shoulder.

"Yeah, I did," he says softly, "Get some sleep, Sammy."

It doesn't matter how they got out. It doesn't even matter how they got stuck in the ink in the first place. They're out, and Dean's here, and he'll figure out how later. Sam closes his eyes and lets sleep come.

**END**


End file.
